


Bullet

by karlark



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Self-Harm, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karlark/pseuds/karlark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat Vantas didn't mean to be so fucked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song "Bullet" by Hollywood Undead. Song lyrics are italicized.
> 
> in case you don't read tags, for some reason...
> 
> **WARNING!** this story contains references to self harm suicidal thoughts/actions. there's also a "major character death" warning. please take note. if any of this could possibly trigger something, please don't read it! thank you.

_My legs are dangling off the edge,  
The bottom of the bottle is my only friend,_

_I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone_

Karkat Vantas didn't mean to be so fucked up. His father was too harsh and the stick in his brother's ass was in way too deep, making the guy almost impossible to be around. He barely had any friends anymore. 

Aradia was fucking weird. 

Tavros... he thinks Tavros is kinda scared of him. 

Sollux was a straight up asshole most of the time. 

Nepeta. Well, he could barely look at Nepeta without letting another wave of self-loathing wash over him. 

Kanaya was one of the only friends he had, and even then, she was like his sister. He hasn't talked to her in forever. 

Terezi was being dodgy recently. She avoided him like the plague. He thinks she's hiding something from him. 

Vriska was a fucking bitch. 

Equius didn't trust him. 

Gamzee was too far gone. 

Eridan was a fucking prick. 

Feferi was too nice, too different from him. 

All eleven of them, all of his old friends, they were a scar on his wrist at one point. He'd look down at his arms with tears streaming down his face, his only thought being, "you fucked up again." Every time he noticed one of his friends slowly getting distant from him, he'd lock himself in the bathroom that night and slit his wrists again, every time. 

There were a few times, more than a few times actually, that he's found himself with a bleeding wrist on one side and a bottle of alcohol in another. 

He tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt up around his elbows. He gazes down at the bandages covering his arms, furiously blinking away tears.

_My legs are dangling off the edge,  
A stomach full of pills didn't work again,_

_I'll put a bullet in my head and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone_

He looks down at his back yard, tilting his head curiously. He's on the roof of his two story house again, legs dangling dangerously off the edge. It's not the first time he's been here. 

He's got a gun this time, though. Somehow convinced his (old) friend Jade to let him borrow it. Had made some bullshit excuse of wanting to practice with it. She'd looked at him suspiciously, but had agreed. He'd gone over to her house after school and she had handed him a pistol, not before making him promise he wouldn't do anything stupid. 

Of course I fucking won't, he had said. Don't be stupid. 

She'd sent him off with a short speech about how that was her brother's pistol and to not mess it up. She had hugged him tightly and then let him go. 

He looks at the gun in his hand, silently debating if he should just place the barrel against his head. And he does, for a few seconds. Lets the cold metal rest against his temple for a few moments. Considers it. 

He then lowers the gun with a heavy sigh. "Pathetic," he whispers quietly into the night air. He then shoves the gun back into the bag he's kept it in all weekend. He swings down into the window just below him, swinging into his room. He tosses the bag onto his bed and just... collapses beside it.

_Gone too far and yeah I'm gone again,  
It's gone on too long, tell you how it ends,_

_I'm sitting on the edge with my 2 best friends,  
Ones a bottle of pills, ones a bottle of gin,_

_I'm 20 stories up, yeah I'm up at the top,  
I'll polish off this bottle, now it's pushing me off,_

_Asphalt to me has never looked so soft,  
I bet my momma found my letter, now shes calling the cops,_

_I gotta take this opportunity before I miss it,  
'Cause now I hear the sirens and they're off in the distance,_

_Believe me when I tell you that I've been persistent,  
'Cause I'm more scarred, more scarred than my wrist is,_

_I've been trying too long, with too dull of a knife,  
But tonight I made sure that I sharpened it twice,_

_I never bought a suit before in my life,  
But when you go to meet God, you know you wanna look nice_

It's apparently "take your child to work day," and his fucking father invites him to go. What is he, ten? The way his father asks him, though, sounds like a command. Like what he had sounded like when he had yelled at his mother, when he had told her to shut the fuck up. When he had told her to fucking leave, or he'd kill her. And her children. His mother had gotten away, had taken her youngest child with her as well. Her "little crab," her baby. He was glad she took him, he didn't want anyone to have to go through the shit he and Kankri had to put up with. 

So he goes. Goes to his father's dumb work place. He doesn't even know what his father does, just knows it's important, since it requires such a tall important building. He doesn't tell his father that he has alcohol in his bag, or a bottle of pills nestled nicely in his pocket. As far as his father knows, he has (quite a few) worksheets of homework in his bag. And that's not wrong, his father just doesn't know of the bottle of gin sitting carefully next to those worksheets.

So, when he tells his father he's gonna roam around and maybe go to the bathroom, and is allowed to even do that, he's overjoyed. (Well, he's content. He hasn't felt joy in awhile, much less felt overjoyed.) With the knowledge that his father thinks he's only roaming the building, he walks around for a little bit until he finds a door that tells him it goes to the roof, and he makes sure nobody sees him walk through it. The workplace isn't exactly as clean as he expected it to be. The workers aren't clean cut and professional. They're slightly messy, all over the place. Nobody sees him walk through the door. He still doesn't know what they do, anyways. 

He disregards any and all thoughts of his father and his workplace in favor of climbing the stairs to the roof of the building. He finally gets to the top, backpack tucked tightly against his side protectively. He walks over to the edge of the building, leaning slightly on the wall there. He looks down to the bottom of the building, thinks he remembers someone telling him the place is about twenty stories high. He tries to forget about that fact, pulls the bottle of gin out of his backpack. Thinks about whether or not he should risk it.

Oh, just a few swigs. I won't get anywhere near drunk, he thinks to himself. 

And well, he didn't get drunk. But he drank enough so that the alcohol was obvious on his breath.

He didn't know that, though. Just kept drinking from the bottle as he gazed down at the ground far, far below. He wonders how much it'd hurt to jump, to tip over, to fall those twenty stories, hear the people scream when they notice you, let everything disappear when you hit the asphalt.

He comes down after awhile. When he speaks to his dad, it doesn't take him long to see how furious his father quickly gets. He doesn't find out why until they get home.

"Why the fuck are ya drinkin' alcohol? Why do ya even need alcohol? Fuckin' hand it over, you pathetic little piece of shit." 

He had handed the bottle over, had kept quiet until he got to his room, where he cried himself to sleep.

_So if I survive, then I'll see you tomorrow, yeah I'll see you tomorrow_

_My legs are dangling off the edge,  
The bottom of the bottle is my only friend,_

_I think I'll slit my wrists again and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone,_

_My legs are dangling off the edge,  
A stomach full of pills didn't work again,_

_I'll put a bullet in my head and I'm gone, gone, gone, gone_

He laughed bitterly, wiping away any tears he had. He was numb. So, so numb. He downed the last of the alcohol in the bottle, before tossing it over to the side. He ignored it as it shattered, a few small shards of glass embedding themselves in his legs. He continues to ignore it. 

He brings the blade to his wrists and presses it down as hard as he can, letting the blood flow freely out. He was a mess. He's lost it. 

But he's gonna do it. He's not gonna be a coward this time.

"Sorry," he whispers the words quietly into the night sky for the last time. "Sorry." 

He brings the pistol up to his head, pulls the trigger, and then...

Nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! this was written december of 2014, so it isn't really _that_ old. it's just not very recent either. so. cut me some slack? :^)


End file.
